


Castle on a Hill

by equinoxiic



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-02 06:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10211417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equinoxiic/pseuds/equinoxiic
Summary: Arya Stark begins her first year at Hogwarts. Enchanted spells, murky forests, elaborate corridors, scary groundskeeper, and a certain nice oak tree, Arya finds her way through the labyrinth of magic.





	1. Arya

**Author's Note:**

> As the tag suggests, this is a Game of Thrones/Asoiaf Hogwarts AU. I've tweaked some details (like the age of the characters) so everything will fit better into the plot I have in mind. I've decided to lean towards JK Rowling's writing style so the plot feels more realistic (to the best of my abilities). Chapters will be in POVs from different characters, just like in Asoiaf. I'm not exactly sure how long this will be, but let's just go with the flow, shall we?
> 
> Setting: Hogwarts in the middle ages, not long after the founders (so keep in mind the realistic changes I've made, such as modes of transportation, class selection, etc.)
> 
> This may or may not contain spoilers.

Arya threw one last clothing on top of her pile of mess before forcing her trunk shut.

“Come on, Nymeria.”

She called out to her wolf, who heartily accompanied her girl to the dining hall.

The air was clear with a tinge of coldness. She passed the courtyard, where the other wolves were chasing falling leaves, painted with patches of amber and red. Fall came early this year.

Only her sister, Sansa, was eating breakfast at the long table. The others – Jon, Robb, Theon, and possibly Bran – were off on an early morning hunt somewhere.

She stabbed a piece of sausage with her fork. “I can’t wait to get sorted.”

“Finish your food before you speak, Arya.” Sansa remarked disapprovingly.

“Do you know how the Sorting Hat picks your house?” Arya ignored her sister’s comment. “How does it know what I’m like? Does it have a mind of its own? Can it read my mind?”

Sansa shrugged earnestly. “I don’t know.”

Arya made a face, gulping down a glass of milk. “Aren’t you curious about anything, Sansa? I don’t know how you ever managed to get sorted into Ravenclaw. Isn't it a house for show-offs?”

“Ravenclaw is a great house!” Sansa insisted, her face turning a little pink every time she became passionate about something. “Headmaster Aemon was in it.”

“Uh huh.”

Arya had her eyes on another House, the one both of her older brothers were in. She knew she’d never favor Ravenclaw – she was nothing like Sansa. Arya didn’t have her sister’s grace, her beautiful sewing skills or her elegant ways of the arts.

“Meet you at the carriage.” Arya dropped her utensils onto her half-finished plate.

“Where are you going?” They wouldn’t have to leave for an hour or so.

“Taking Nymeria for a walk.”

Arya was too excited to finish her breakfast. She passed by the stables, where the carriage was being prepared and the horses were fed for the journey. She waved to the stable boy, Hodor, before heading into the forests, with her wolf tagging along behind her. Nymeria perked her head up as they passed a squirreling scuttling into the bushes at the sound of their steps. But she kept her tail low and let out an occasional whine in protest of her human’s departure ahead.

“I’m sorry, Nymeria. They can’t allow wolves there. Dogs are fine, but not wolves.”

Deeper into the woods, Arya heard muffled shouts and laughter. She followed the familiar voices, leaping over murky puddles and fallen branches until she saw the figures of her brothers.

“Arya! Nice of you to join us.” Jon called out from the opening of the meadow, where he was standing with a sword in his hands. “Have you finish packing already?”

“Yes,” Arya stepped closer until the sunlight shined onto her face. “What are you doing?”

“You packed everything?” Jon asked incredulously, remembering that Septa Mordane had demanded Arya to unload all her belongings and repack them again, neatly.

“Yes,” Arya insisted impatiently. “Are you playing swords?”

“Not playing, practicing.” Robb corrected as he faced Bran, who was staggering while holding a sword that was clearly too big for him.

“You got your own sword?!” Arya demanded.

“It’s Theon’s.” Bran said.

“Look at this fat rabbit I caught!”

Theon turned up from the shadows of the trees, holding a very overweight, yet very alive, rabbit by the ears.

“Theon! You’re not allowed to use magic outside of school.” Jon blurted.

“But it’s not like they’re going to find out, are they?” Theon said with a smug look on his face. “We can have a second breakfast before we leave if have time.”

“We should go back. I hear Grey Wind howling.” Robb said.

“You do?” Arya raised an eyebrow.

“No, but imagine how furious mother would be if we were late like last time.”

 

The carriage was ready. The trunks were already stowed, and the Stark children were saying their last goodbyes to their wolves.

“Bye Nymeria, I’ll miss you.” Arya ruffled her wolf’s fur, burying her face into it one last time before winter.

“Bye Robb. Bye Sansa.” Catelyn embraced each of her children before they stepped into the carriage. “Arya,”

Arya turned to her mother with a great, big smile.

“Are you ready for your first year at Hogwarts?” Catelyn asked, her eyes mixed with sadness and pride.

Arya nodded.

Catelyn spread out her arms. “Come here.”

Arya ran into her mother’s arms, burying her face into the fabric of her mother’s dress.

“Remember to write to me.” Catelyn said. “I’ll be very anxious to know which house you get in.”

Arya gently pulled herself away from her mother. “Would you want me to be in your house?”

Catelyn smiled. “I would be happy with whichever house you choose.”

Next to her mother, Ned was beaming a hundred suns.

“Or perhaps you’ll get my house?”

“Father!” Arya ran to her father and enclosed her tiny arms around her father’s waist.

“I think I’ll stick to mother’s house.” She admitted.

Ned pat his daughter’s hair before leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Have a good year.”

Arya watched her head as she stepped into the carriage, with Bran following close behind. Seeing the carriage from the outside, she had wondered how such a small construction with the capability of three scrawny adults could carry all her three brothers, sister, and Theon. When Arya looked around, she was in awe. The inside of the carriage could carry all her three brothers, sister, Theon, and three Hodors!

The carriage was split into two columns and two rows of seats. There was an empty seat next to her sister, but Arya occupied the one across from it. Bran sat next to her.

“I can’t believe you’re starting school with me.” Arya eyed him as he sat down. “You’re a year younger than me!”

“Almost a year.” Bran corrected. “And I’m already eleven!”

“Whatever.” Arya rolled her eyes. “What house do you think you’ll be in?”

“Gryffindor!” Bran replied without a second of thought. “Like Robb, Jon, and mother. What about you?”

“Same.” Arya bobbled her head up and down in agreement. “Sansa will be the only one that’s not.”

“Father wasn’t in Gryffindor either.” Bran pointed out.

“I wouldn’t mind Hufflepuff either.” Arya shrugged. “As long as Sansa’s not in it.”


	2. Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love and support!! I really enjoy reading the comments. I wrote this chapter inconsistently during the past few days (and in a bad time, the power went out in most of my area, so I had rely on school and public places for electricity and wifi). I apologize if there's any mistakes or errors. I tried to edit it, but I got a little tired. Anyways, enjoy!

“Wake up Arya!”  
  
Arya lifted open her weary eyelids. She could see through the rain-spotted windows that the sky had grown as dark as the deep sea.  
  
Her sister's face towered over hers. Arya rubbed her eyes lazily and saw Bran's tiny head disappearing behind the carriage door.  
  
"Wait!" Arya shot up from her seat to catch up with her brother. "Why didn't you wait for me?"  
  
"I wanted to get sorted first." Bran replied, a grin spreading across his face.  
  
Arya nudged him, a little harder than she intended as he staggered sideways, almost losing balance and hitting the ground.  
  
"I don't think that's how it works, Bran." She said.  
  
"Hurry up, get inside!"  
  
Arya turned her attention to the direction of the low voice, and she was shocked to see a man more horrifying than any man she'd ever laid her eyes on. One side of his face, scarred and burnt, seemed to scowl in their direction as he waved the empty carriages off.  
  
"Who is that?" Arya leaned over to her sister.  
  
"That's the Hound." Sansa replied. "He's the groundskeeper."  
  
"Who calls themselves ‘the Hound’?”  
  
“He’s real name is Clegane, Sandor Clegane, but everyone calls him the Hound.” Sansa spotted her group of friends and walked off with Jeyne Poole, leaving Arya and Bran alone with incoming carriages and the scary-looking groundskeeper. Jon, Robb, and Theon were nowhere to be seen – they were probably in the castle already.  
  
Arya could feel a slight shudder running through her body every time the Hound neared them. But she wasn’t afraid.  
  
“First years with Brienne!” He shouted, eyeing the two lone wolf pups out the corners of his bloodshot eyes.  
  
“Who’s – ”  
  
“THE FIRST FLOOR CORRIDOR.”  
  
Arya and Bran didn’t wait to be told twice before hurrying off as fast as their little legs could carry them. They didn’t stop until they were inside the castle, surrounded by dimly-lit candles, ancient stone walls, and confused first years.  
  
“First years, gather up!”  
  
Arya edged in toward the crowd, holding Bran’s arm as to not lose him in the disarray. She could see above the tiny heads of shuffling first years the figure of someone tall and muscular, someone wearing a suit of armor from head to toe.  
  
“In a while, these doors are going to open, and you will all enter in an orderly-fashion.” Brienne called out. “When your name is called, you will be sorted into a house: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin.”  
  
“This is it.” Arya muttered, pulling Bran closer.  
  
When the doors to the Great Hall swung open, the first years breathed out gasps of bewilderment at the grandiose sight.  
  
“Look at the lights!” One child pointed at the floating candles.  
  
The first years filed into the Great Hall in uncertain clusters. Arya could feel the inquisitive stares from the older students sitting along four long tables. She scanned the crowd for familiar faces of her brothers, and there they were: Jon and Robb, waving at Arya and Bran from the Gryffindor table. Theon was laughing hysterically at whatever Robb had just said.  
  
The first years were stopped before a fifth long table that was perpendicular to all the other four. A slightly battered hat lay on top of an unstable-looking three-legged stool.

  
What happened next, Arya could not specifically remember. She was too focused on the glimmering enchanted ceiling that reflected the weather outside. A full circle moon. Wisps of scattered clouds. It seemed that the night sky was starting to send down some drizzles, but Arya didn’t feel a single drop of rain on her skin.  
  
“Baratheon, Myrcella.”  
  
A girl with elegant golden curls walked up to the stool, a hint of anxiety on her beautiful face. Arya furrowed her brows slightly: she was not so fond of this girl. She reminded Arya too much of Sansa.  
  
The Sorting Hat was placed on Myrcella’s head, falling over her emerald eyes.  
  
“Hufflepuff!”  
  
As the hat announced its decision, the table on the far right exploded into applause.  
  
Arya waited anxiously for her turn. She glanced occasionally over at Bran, who was just as jiggly as she was.  
  
“Stark, Arya.”  
  
She froze.  
  
Arya didn’t think she would be nervous, but butterflies were fluttering all over, and not just in her stomach. This was it. This would determine the future of her entire seven years at Hogwarts.  
  
She quickly strolled toward the hat. Up close, it seemed even more battered than from afar.  
  
Brienne gently set the oversized hat on Arya’s tiny head. It covered most of her eyes, and her vision was limited to the dimly-lit floor and the shadows of leather shoes.  
  
“Another Stark?”  
  
Arya was slightly startled by the voice.  
  
“Ahh, I’ve met your two brothers and your sister… yes… yes… your brothers had the bravery and honor for Gryffindor, and your sister… could have gone in many different directions, but she chose a route different from your brothers. Now… where shall I put you…”  
  
“I’m brave.” Arya thought. “I think.”  
  
“Brave?” The hat echoed. “I certainly don’t doubt that… but have your explored the _unexplored_ parts of yourself? Your cleverness… your loyalty… or perhaps your _persistence?_ ”

“I’m brave!” Arya insisted.

“See! You see what I am talking about? Oh, alright… if you _insist_ … GRYFFINDOR!”  
  
Arya hopped out of the stool a little too quickly, forgetting the gap between the floor and her dangling feet or the flailing hat barely hanging onto her head. Brienne had to catch her arm to prevent her from kissing the floor.  
  
“Sorry!” Arya gave the hat back and skipped over to the Gryffindor table, where Jon had saved her a seat next to him.  
  
“Congratulations, little sister.” Jon patted her head affectionately, just like father had done. Robb gave her a giant hug.  
  
Arya couldn’t stop smiling. Nothing could take this wonderful moment away from her. No, not even that scary groundskeeper with the half-burnt face.  
  
She looked over at the Ravenclaw table, trying to spot her sister, but the couldn’t locate the red headed girl anywhere.  
  
Arya turned her attention back to the Sorting Ceremony. Bran was next.  
  
She secretly wished that Bran would get sorted in Gryffindor, just like her, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. No, not ever.  
  
The hat slipped down Bran’s eyes, and the hall grew silent. For a moment, it seemed nothing was going to happen. Then…  
  
“Ravenclaw!”  
  
Arya’s heart sank a little. She looked over at Jon and Robb, who stared blankly in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, where Bran was slowly making his way. Arya couldn’t make out his expression, but she was certain he was at least somewhat disappointed. He had his heart set on Gryffindor, to follow the footsteps of his older brothers.  
  
Arya finally caught a glimpse of Sansa, her auburn hair glimmering under the candle light. She was gleaming at the sight of another Stark joining her house.  
  
“He’ll do fine in Ravenclaw.” Jon assured her.  
  
Arya wasn’t going to doubt that. Of course Bran could make it on his own: he was strong and willful enough. She just never thought of the possibility of starting her first year of school without all – well, all except Sansa – of her siblings at Hogwarts by her side.  
  
When all the first years had been sorted and the talking hat had been put away, Headmaster Aemon stood up from his seat, motioning silence from the chattering students.  
  
"Congratulations, first years." Headmaster Aemon said in a low, raspy voice that one would expect from a very old man. "Welcome all students to another year at Hogwarts. Before the feast begins, I would like to introduce the newest addition to our faculty, the new Charms teacher, Professor Tyrion Lannister."  
  
The entire Great Hall began to inspect the staff table from left to right until their eyes laid upon a very short man the size of a dwarf. His head was disproportionately attached to his stout body, and his features were not exactly the most pleasant image on the eye. There was a moment in which sneering whispers could be heard circulating around the hall.  
  
"The Lannister Imp!" Arya heard Theon hiss through his teeth.  
  
Once the feast began, Arya took her mind off of Bran. When plates of greasy roasted chickens and  kidney pies appeared on the tables as though out of thin air, all anyone had in mind was to stuff as much food in their faces as possible.  
  
Arya, neglecting all her lady-like manners, grabbed a chicken leg with her bare hand as the grease dripped down her sleeve. She grinned at the thought of how furious Septa Mordane would be at the sight of her uncivilized behavior.  
  
Jon, Robb, and Theon were discussing classes, a conversation that desperately irritated Arya, who couldn't find a way to join in.  
  
"...I can't wait to beat you in dueling this year." Theon said through his mouthful potatoes.  
  
"No way," Robb said. "With or without a wand, you will lose."  
  
"Am I going to learn how to duel too?" Arya butted in.  
  
"Most likely not for a first year." Jon replied. "You'll probably start with learning the basic techniques before you whip your wand – or sword – at someone."  
  
"That is, for Mormont at least." Robb said. "Brienne sort of just throw you in a playpen and let you figure it out by yourselves. She's still new here: it'll take her a while to figure out that a bunch of underaged wizards cannot be trusted with pointy swords on their own."  
  
"We have two dueling teachers?" Arya asked.  
  
"One for magic, one for non-magic." Robb said.  
  
"Why would we need one for non-magic?"  
  
"Because, what if you need to fight a Muggle?" Robb said matter-of-factly. “It wouldn’t exactly be fair to use magic against them, wouldn’t it?”  
  
Arya shrugged. "Either way, I'm going to beat everyone in my year." She was confident that through years of secretly waving a wooden sword around in the forest and watching her brothers duel, she would be far ahead of the other students.  
  
"And remember, if anyone gives you a hard time..." Robb lifts his chest, revealing a shining red-and-gold prefect badge.  
  
After the feast, the prefects led the first years to their respective common rooms. Arya tried to locate Bran in the Ravenclaw crowd before they left the Great Hall, but too many older students towered over her like giant trees.  
  
"Bran! Bran!" Arya attempted to shout over the throng of students.  
  
She got one glimpse of the back of Bran's head before he disappeared completely into the crowd.


	3. Bran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not much to say about Chapter 3, but I appreciate all the support as always! <3

Bran was disappointed.

He dragged his feet along the stone corridors, following the shadows of figures surrounding him. Sansa walked in front of him, chattering and laughing with her friends. She whipped her head around occasionally to check if Bran were keeping up.

This was not how he pictured his first day of school. By all means, he should be walking alongside Arya and his brothers toward the Gryffindor Tower in the other direction. Even thinking about Arya made him a little jealous: how was he any different than her? Was he not brave? Was he not daring? Could Arya climb that old tree in the woods behind their castle? Could Arya jump from roof to roof with such skill and swiftness?

For a moment back in the Great Hall, Bran thought he heard Arya's voice, but the hasty footsteps around him kept him going. But now that he thought about it, he would've liked to see his siblings one last time before going to bed.

 

Bran woke up the next morning, feeling that he had not slept at all. All his other classmates had gone off to find their classes early, leaving Bran strolling aimlessly in the corridors.

“Bran!”

He spun around immediately to that familiar voice, and oh, was he ever so glad to see Arya!

“Going to class?” She asked, her unclosed sachet swung over her left shoulder while she held several slices of bread in one hand.

“A little lost.” Bran smiled sheepishly.

“Come on,” Arya grabbed Bran’s arm with her empty hand and led him down the moving stairs.

“Can I have some breakfast?” Bran looked hopefully at the slices of soft, golden bread.

Arya stared at him. “Fine.” She gave in at last, shoving a piece in Bran’s hand. 

The dungeons were dark and cold, enough to to send shivers down Bran’s neck. When they arrived in class, most of the seats were already taken. After glancing uncertainly at each other, Bran and Arya walked to opposite sides of the classroom to the only empty chairs left. 

“Welcome to potions,” said a man of short stature and slender build, bearing a grin that no one dared to trust. “I am Professor Baelish, the Potions Master.” His feet barely made a sound as he strolled around the classroom. His eyes moved slightly, yet Bran felt as if he were studying everyone and everything around him like a hawk. “You will learn the magical art of potion brewing. First years will start their potions career with something small, but as you progress… slow, arduous, and painful at first… your potion will turn a sour green, your pewter will break into pieces at the slightest mistake, your cauldron will melt into a paste of metallic flesh…”

Bran felt uneasy, shifting in his seat. He found it more comfortable to stare down at his textbook 

“...but today, you won’t have to worry about that. Today, you will brew, or to the best of your abilities, a simple potion. Follow the instructions in your book. By the end of class today, I would like a vial of Cure for Boils on my desk. This activity is to test how well you follow directions. Use any ingredients or tools you need in the first year cupboard. Do not ask me any questions: pretend I’m not here.” Petyr went back to sit at his desk. He flipped the hourglass upside down and set it on his desk, letting the first grain of sand fall. “Begin!”

Bran was caught off guard: he wasn’t prepared for the sudden assessment. He flipped open his textbook as the brown, crackling pages brushed against his fingers. 

“Add 6 snake fangs to the mortar…” Bran muttered frequently as he worked.

As the hourglass emptied half way, Bran was far ahead of many of his classmates. The longer he worked, the harder he focused: crushing thoroughly and stirring patiently. He didn’t even notice as Petyr stooped beside his simmering cauldron.

“Nicely done.”

“AH!” Bran almost dropped his stirring stick.

“Very good, you’re almost done, and we still have 10 minutes.” Petyr admired the swirling liquid before turning to Bran. “Hmm… you’re a Stark, aren’t you?”

Bran nodded. “I’m Bran.”

“Yes, yes… I recognize you Starks.” Petyr’s face turned into an inscrutable expression as he turned his heels to leave. “Put a vial on my desk when you have finished.” He said as he walked toward another table, examining the cauldron of a golden-haired girl named Myrcella.

After Bran set his vial on Petyr’s desk, he paid a visit to his sister, who was still stirring her cauldron like a madman.

“You have finished already?” Arya’s sleeves were unrolled and stained with blotches of mustard color.

Bran shrugged. “Need some help?”

“I can do this by myself, thanks.” Arya insisted as she inadvertently flicked a splotch of liquid onto her furrowed eyebrows. They simmered slightly and turned into a nasty shade of yellow-brown. “It’ll wear off… hopefully.”

When Arya finally walked out from the classroom, her hair was in disarray. Her sleeves were completely destroyed.

“You look good, sis.” Bran grinned.

“Shut up.” Arya didn’t even have the energy to push him down the stairs.

The next class required less hands-on activity, to Bran’s mild disappointment. Back at home, Arya had often overshadowed him in swords and arrows, so he was more that pleased to find something that Arya  _ couldn’t  _ beat him in. Although he wasn’t particularly fond of his potions teacher, Bran could hardly wait to return to class and brew another successful concoction.

History and Theory of Magic was taught by a plump and bald man clad in velvet. In certain moments, he reminded Bran very specifically of Professor Baelish. But in other times, they were completely different.

“You won’t need your wands for this class.” Varys said. “Use your minds.”

Arya groaned beside Bran, who knew well enough that what she hated more than anything was sitting in a stuffy room and listening to an elderly babble on and on.

“Wake me up when it’s over.” Arya yawned, leaning her head against the table.

Bran found himself being drawn into the lecture, even jotting down points he thought were fascinating. He enjoyed the lesson far more than he thought he would.

“Good work, pupils.” Varys said as the class came to an end. “You may go now.”

Bran prodded Arya on the arm. “Time to go.” 

“Huh?” She lift her head up from her nap, gazing into the empty wall.

He prodded her harder. “TIME TO GO.”

“Miss Stark?”

Both Bran and Arya looked up to see Varys staring straight at them.

“Next time, I prefer you would not breathe so loudly in my class.”

Arya gave a look that was a combination of confusion and irritation. She said nothing as they headed for the door.

“I wasn’t breathing  _ loudly _ !” Arya cried out as soon as the classroom was out of sight.

“No you weren’t.” Bran nodded. “You were  _ snoring. _ ”

“Why didn’t you stop me, Bran?”

“It wasn’t really  _ that  _ loud.” Bran said. “Only the class next door heard it.”

The banter carried all the way down the stairs. Arya sometimes walked backwards to keep her eyes on Bran, who couldn’t stop laughing at his own jokes.

“You’re not funny, Bran.” Arya walked so heavily that she was almost stomping. “You’re the only one who thinks you’re funny. Ask Jon, ask Robb… they’ll tell you– OOF!”

Arya bumped into something – or  _ someone _ – rather. She lost her balance and toppled over on the marble floor. Her knees kissed the floor first, following by her legs and arms. 

“Ow!” The tall boy Arya had just bumped into gave an expression of utter irritation. He rubbed his elbows and patted his clothes of invisible pieces of dirt.

“Arya!” Sansa’s voice echoed of concern and frustration. She was standing next to the older boy wearing a prefect badge embroidered with a silver serpent.

“Can you watch where you’re going?” He seethed through his teeth.

Arya stood back on her feet, glaring up at the golden-haired boy with all the anger her tiny body could muster. Bran would very much like to glare  _ down  _ at the older boy, but only if Bran were a few heads taller. But neither he nor Arya could speak as they found their tongues tied into knots. The boy was dressed finely...   _ too _ fine, as if all the gold helms of his clothings  _ sparkled _ through his dark cloaked uniform.

“Are you mute? Can you not speak?” The boy demanded, his green eyes flashing dangerously.

“No!” Arya retorted, her hands in fists. 

“Then are you blind?” He said with a tone of tender malice. Bran noticed Sansa’s lower lip twitch slightly.

“ _ No. _ ”

“Then could you not see me right in front of you when you  _ walked into me _ ?”

“I wasn’t looking!”

“Is that  _ my  _ fault?”

“No, it was mine.” Arya said reluctantly. “I’m sorry.”

She tried to leave with Bran, but the older boy stood in front of them.

“She said she was sorry!” Bran found himself shouting.

The boy was slightly taken aback, and a sudden look of fury spread across his handsome face. Then, it left as quickly as a came, and his expression was replaced by a sense of amusement.

He turned to Sansa. “These are your brother and sister?”

She nodded slowly.

“Hmm… I thought so.” The boy studied the two younger Starks closely. “You can always hear a wolf wailing from miles away.”

Bran could feel anger boiling inside him. He didn't think it was possible to accumulate so much anger in such a short period of time. Yet, there he was, fighting hard to keep himself from charging toward the older student.

“Can we leave?” Bran asked.

“Not yet.” The boy pulled out his wand, twirling it threateningly between his pale, slender fingers. “That depends.”

“Pick on someone your own size.” Arya then muttered under her breath. “Coward.”

The boy stopped twirling his wand. “What did you say?” He etched closer to Arya.

What happened next occurred in such a haste that Bran couldn’t recall exactly how the older boy was lying face down on the floor. His elbows were actually bruised this time, with patches of purple and blue. All Bran saw afterwards was Arya putting her own wand back into her cloak pocket. 

“Joffrey! Are you alright?!” Sansa gasped with sudden panic. “You’re bleeding!”

Bran was equally as shocked. “Where did you learn that hex?”

Arya shrugged. “Jon, or Robb, or Theon. I don’t remember specifically.”

“What is going on here?!” A low voice grumbled out of nowhere.

“They attacked me!” Joffrey shrieked, pointing at Bran and Arya with a shaky finger.

Bran froze as he quickly identified the owner of that voice. It was the groundskeeper with the half burnt face. Just thinking about it made the hairs on Bran’s neck stand up.

“I saw what happened.” The Hound barely glanced over in Joffrey’s direction. “I need to know who’s responsible.”

“I’m the one bleeding, and she did it!” Joffrey continued to point his finger at Arya.

“He was going to attack her!” Bran protested.

“Do you have any proof of that, lousy first-year?” Joffrey scowled.

Bran opened his mouth, but he was unable to say anything. He looked over at Sansa for help, but she was biting her lower lip nervously and shaking her head. It was hopeless.

“You – ” The Hound pointed at Arya. “Come with me.”

Arya looked uncertainly at Bran and then stared at the groundskeeper in the eye, without blinking. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“I’m sending you to detention.”

“Detention!” Joffrey cried out in disbelief. “She should be expelled!”

“It’s only a scratch.” The Hound was already making his way up the stairs with Arya following behind. “Lick your wound if you must.”

They were already far from sight when Joffrey began this slur of insults, something along the lines of “dog” and “bitch” and “useless servant.” Bran had to plug his ears to drown out the noise and slowly slipped away when Joffrey wasn’t looking.


End file.
